Amelia's nerves were aflutter the closer the hour of the ball drew near. The grand clock in the entry way seemed to tick in time with the beating of her heart. The responsibility of presenting as mistress of a ball for the first time still weighed heavily upon her chest.  Amelia's disconcertment was magnified by lingering thoughts of Mr. Archer's fine blue eyes trespassing on her awareness.  She had hoped that the vision would be of little consequence, one that could be reposed and dismissed as an intellectual accident. It is simply a faulty impression, Amelia thought uneasily, explained by the fact that Mr. Archer was the last gentleman with whom I have conversed today.  And with that resolution, she pushed her consternation aside to focus on the ball.

Amelia had chosen to partake of a small repast before quitting her chamber lest she feel faint while welcoming the guests. The cold collation of meats, cheeses and fruit now felt heavy in her stomach, and was churning unpleasantly amid her apprehensions. I shall seek out a glass of wine to settle my present ailment, she thought. I would not behoove me to present myself as mistress of the water closet instead of mistress of Eagleton Manor. Requesting a glass from her regular footman, Amelia took a last turn about the ball room, being careful not to disrupt the chaulked floor. She sipped her glass gingerly, noting that everything was in proper order.

The mantle clock marked eight thirty as Amelia finished her glass. Her last task was to ensure the additional footman that had been engaged solely for the evening were given the proper livery.  Amelia was please to find each smartly pressed uniform already in action.  One footman was already stationed outside the ballroom. Amelia espied a second near the balustrade, mid-way between the front entrance and the ballroom. He was meant to direct the guests towards the dancing or towards the prepared upper chambers as needed. A third footman was stationed at the front entrance and taking final directions from Jennings.

The butler turned to face his mistress and bowed deeply. "I trust that everything is prepared as per your direction, Madame."

"Yes, thank you. It has been executed excellently. Please send my gratitude towards the household members."

"It is our pleasure," replied Jennings. "May I take your glass, Madame?"

"Yes, please." Amelia placed her empty wine glass in his white gloved hand, and he bowed deeply before dismissing himself.

As Amelia made her way back towards the ballroom she felt a strong set of hands grip her by the waist. They pulled her towards an alcove in the hall, away from the prying eyes of the servants. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt a warm expiration exciting the back of her neck.

"You look ravishing, darling," said a familiar voice.

"John", Amelia replied, breathless. "To what do I owe such wanton attention? It's so utterly risqué!"

"Others may best admire your figure from afar, my love, but knowing that only I may adjoin you in such close proximity made impossible to withstand my compunction to have you in my arms."

"My dearest, I long for you handle the many folds of my physique, yet now is not the time. Our guests will arrive imminently."

A low growl erupted from John's throat as he traced the lace of Amelia's low-lying collar with the tip of his forefinger.

"Send them all away! Extinguish the candles, turn away the carriages!"

"Oh that we could, my love. We have the minuet, and our bodies shall move in time together. As the bard said, palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss."

"O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do," replied John, placing his lips so near to Amelia's that she could feel the reverberations of his voice against her skin.

"And unchaste kiss shall have to suffice until we meet abed this eve," said Amelia, pressing her lips to John's. A warm and tender feeling overtook her mind with the blissful connection. Amelia soon broke away, hoping that the silk of her gown had not been crushed in the height of passion.

"Adieu, my love," replied John. "Until we meet again."

Cheeks flushed, Amelia returned to her post in the ballroom, ready to greet the first guests. No sooner had she resumed her station than the clock struck nine. The designated hour has come! she thought. Running her hands over her gown and adjusting her posture, Amelia hoped these little fidgets would do more than naught to calm her nerves. Providence would not have it so, as the footman's booming voice called out causing Amelia to start.

"Mr. and Mrs. George Moore; Miss Moore."

"Lottie! How apt that you should be bang up to the mark," Amelia exclaimed as she rushed to meet her sister. She hugged her as tightly as she could for fear that she might crush her dress. "You look ravishing, sister. Such a beautiful cambric gown! Mr. Curtis shall scarce be able to divert his eyes."

"You are beautiful as well, Amelia. Such finery suits you, and the manor is so elegant. You have done wonders to this old house. I should scare recognize it," replied Lottie. She lowered her voice conspiratorially and whispered "For it is missing the stale and uptight mien of the late Mrs. Dyer. No doubt the servants as well as the drapery have benefited from such an airing out."

"You are too much, Lottie.  Ever the hoyden!" Amelia expressed, bemused. "I have missed you desperately. And although John is a satisfactory bedfellow, he is want to discuss bandy words at night. I do so miss our tête-à-têtes."

"I should hope John can bandy about more than words," wickedly replied Lottie with a wink, causing her sibling to colour up nicely.

"Tread lightly dear sister," replied Amelia jestingly, "lest I refer to the amorous congress of your future marriage bed at the dinner table. It shall be bread and butter for everyone to see."

"Panem et circenses," quipped Lottie, as the two descended into a fit of giggles.

"I dare say, Mrs. Moore, here may lie two of the very silliest sisters in England," interjected Mr. Moore. "Now that you have firmly regarded the affections of you sister, do please share some with your father."

"Momma! Poppa!" Amelia exclaimed as she embraced them individually. "How delighted I am to see you. I trust that you left my other brothers and sisters in good health?"

"They were in fine spirits, though missing your tutelage," responded Mrs. Moore. "Hannah was in high dudgeon all morning, begging us to speak to your father for permission to come out tonight."

"'Pon rep, my dear! She is but four and ten. She will have to prove she can sit for more than five minutes with a book betwixt her fingers before I shall allow her to twiddle about at balls," expressed Mr. Moore gruffly.

"There, there my dear," replied Mrs. Moore. "Lottie and I reflected those wishes in kind. She will not be troubling you any time soon. And aye, she needs to refine her artistry in needlepoint and watercolours as well.  At the moment, she is far too preoccupied with trouncing her brothers at battledore and shuttlecock."

"The noise of the competition alone is merit enough to scare away any potential suitors," quipped Mr. Moore.

Amelia smiled deeply. She had been so consumed with the preparations for the ball of late, that she had forgotten the immense pleasure she gained from time with her family. Her father's sense of humour and her mother's gentle countenance had been very positive influences. She only wished that she might provide the same stability for her intended children.

"Please send them my love, Poppa. I too have missed them," confessed Amelia. "The quietude of Eagleton has seemed oppressive at time as I had grown used to the din that accompanied my siblings."

"Then let us plan for you to dine with us within the fortnight," replied Mr. Moore.

"Yes, let's do!" exclaimed Lottie. "Once the date is set, may we also invite Mr. Curtis? I should very much like to formally make your acquaintance, for between the dancing and our sup, we shall be too full up for more than introductions tonight."

"I would be overjoyed with such an invitation," replied Amelia. "I know Mr. Dyer will be just as eager to attend. We shall make the arrangements forthwith, but for now let us enjoy tonight!"

Amelia toured her family about the room. The Moore ladies expressed many a delight in Amelia's abundant attention to detail, and assured her that it would be well received. There could be no doubt that the Eagleton ball would be the subject of chatter in society in the coming weeks. Mr. Moore politely nodded with each turn, letting the ladies prattle on endlessly. However, his attention piqued when Amelia spouted off the menu for the evening.  From thence forward, Mr. Moore was all attention, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of a delicious spread.

As the group returned to ballroom, Amelia espied John.  Now illuminated, she could admire his figure and see how dashing he appeared in his evening attire.  His light brown mane had been brushed forward on his face, and his long sideburns clipped to precision. He had chosen a beautiful silken waistcoat made of a delicate pale brown brocade, which reflected the colour of his eyes.  He had exchanged his simply tied cravat for a stock and lace fall.  The look was formal, yet refined.  His tailcoat was of rich brown wool, providing a stark contrast for his white pantaloons and white silken stockings.  His feet were graced with a pair of slip on leather shoes, decorated by a simple metal buckle.  His white linen gloves were bright and starched to perfection.  A gentleman, indeed.

John warmly received Amelia's family and began to jovially converse with Mr. and Mrs. Moore.  His approbation at the prospect of dining at Cauldwell Lodge was evident, and Amelia felt a surge of affection that mirrored his enthusiasm.  He is so good, she thought, and I am so fortunate.  The fullness of her heart was then stilled and replaced by the most startling undulations as her gaze met the azure eyes that possessed her thoughts so piercingly earlier.

Gazing out from below hooded lids, Mr. Archer's eyes were bright and wide as they took in Amelia's appearance.  She was magnificent figure, and one that he could scarcely ignore.  Her very arrival in the room had sparked a passionate response within his chest, and now that she was regarding him so intently, his hands began to shake.  He quickly clasped them behind his back, and dipped his eyes towards the floor. 

Amelia was rattled of her own accord.  All the regard she had for John's appearance was superseded by her admiration of Mr. Archer's.  He had chosen a white cravat, tied in a large bow with a simple cravat pin secured to its base.  His white waistcoat was marked with a fine blue stripe pattern and was tucked below a deep navy formed jacket.  The tails fell over a pair of black breeches that were complimented with black stockings and lace up shoes.  The look was more modern than John's, and very handsome.  He is a fine eligible parti, thought Amelia.  Yet, no ladies will set their caps at him if he does not relax his stiff and rigid stance.  His discomfit is too evident, and I shall have to remedy that.

Amelia moved in Mr. Archer's direction, but was thwarted by a tug to her arm.  She turned in the direction of the pressure, and noted Lottie was drawing her close. 

"Pray, tell me who is that, sister?  He is a most striking man."

"That is Mr. Thomas Archer.  He has come to stay with us, and is John's long lost-relation.  He recently quitted the militia, and plans to resume trade in town, I believe."

"I certainly hope he is not does not plan to hang on John's sleeve."

"No, dear sister, I assure you that he is far too proud for that.  Mr. Archer will find his way soon enough."

"Lud, how he ogles you, Amelia.  You would think him a moon-eyed lover," Lottie exclaimed, much to the dismay of Amelia.   Lottie was peering directly at Mr. Archer as she spoke, and he appeared to become increasingly vexed under her observation.  He began to shuffle his feet, and pull at the fabric of his sleeves.

"Lottie! Do not speak of such things.  Mr. Archer pays me no more mind than he does you, I am sure.  Your figure is equally as pleasing, if not more so, tonight.  And please stop staring at him, he seems as if he is mind to bolt like a startled horse.  We shall never find him a wife if he remains so skittish."

"You are right, sister.  We must lead him to the bridle path,"  jested Lottie, as she turned her eyes towards her sister and smiled brightly. Remarking the seriousness of Amelia's expression, she feigned at taming her expression.  "I promise I shall be kind and proper.  Make our introduction, and I shall even endeavor to convince your cicisbeo take me around the dance floor.  He appears in good need of a pleasant diversion."

"Thank you, Lottie," replied Amelia affectionately.  The women curtseyed in Mr. Archer's direction before sharing the latest on dit.  Yet, Amelia's mind wandered as her sister shared her gossip.  Somehow the emphatic way in which Lottie described Mr. Archer was unsettling. Ciscibeo.  Although most often used to mean a platonic male friend, Amelia could not ignore its added implication of gallant lover of a married woman. The wink in Lottie's eye suggested that she too was not ignorant of her insinuation and the effect it seemed to have on her sister.